


an anchor you can't leave behind

by maharlika



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Artist Thor, Domesticity, Illustrations, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Plant Metaphors, Sibling Incest, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/pseuds/maharlika
Summary: An accident at the art gallery leaves Thor with minor head trauma and the past three years of his life wiped from his memory. As he grapples with a new life—a new city, a new apartment, and a new, easy relationship with his brother—he finds himself enchanted and frustrated by a recurring subject in his paintings. A figure with their face always turned to the side, obscured, but painted with such attention and devotion that it makes Thor ache.He just wishes he could remember who he’s fallen in love with.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 362
Collections: Thorki Baby Bang 2020





	an anchor you can't leave behind

**Author's Note:**

> written for the thorki baby bang 2020! huge thank you's to my fellow mods for another successful bang ❤️
> 
> many thanks to kim and elsa for the beta, and to the gc for pasta throwing ❤️
> 
> this fic comes with some absolutely stunning art from estivate ([here!! ](https://twitter.com/estivate9/status/1312884676168744960?s=21) and [here!!](https://twitter.com/estivate9/status/1312886197065330695?s=21)) and hardwareupgrade ([here!!](https://twitter.com/hardwareupgrade/status/1312876381370568710?s=20)). thank you so much liz and rowan for choosing my fic and making such incredible pieces!!! i still can't get over them, aaaaa 😍 i am truly so, so honored.

*

“This seems like a really bad idea.”

Val crossed her arms and smiled uncertainly. Beside her, Thor knelt with one knee on the floor, his hands in a mess of wires and sockets. 

In the middle of the room was a massive sculpture of a pegasus in flight, all glass and neon lights. _The Fall of Asgard_ , Val called it, hearkening back to the glowing streets of decades past, when neon had been a symbol of the future. Though secretly, she said, she just thought it looked really fucking cool.

They’d spent the afternoon trying to hook it up to the gallery’s distribution board, and Thor was a step away from putting it all together—or blowing himself up.

“It’s fine,” Thor said with a grin. “God of Thunder, right?”

He pushed down with his hand, plugging the sculpture into the power source.

For a moment, the pegasus lit up, garish and gorgeous in its brilliant purples and reds—and then there was a tremendous BOOM, and Thor was flung across the room, slamming into the opposite wall as the air filled with the smell of acrid smoke. 

*

Thor blearily blinked awake. His head was ringing, the incessant hum of a tuning fork. He felt sore down to his skeleton. 

Someone hovered above him, blurry and radiating concern. 

“Thor?” they asked.

Thor fought hard to focus on the figure, wincing as they resolved into the form of a woman with dark skin and worried eyes. 

“What?” Thor managed to ask, before he felt himself slipping again.

“Fuck,” the woman said, her voice muffled. “Loki’s going to kill me.”

*

The second time Thor woke up, he was in a hospital. 

“Mr. Odinson,” said the person at his bedside, coming to attention as Thor blinked and shifted. White coat, stethoscope around their neck. A doctor. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” Thor croaked. His hand twitched and he realized how strange it felt, sore and weak. His head lolled down and he saw there was a tube sticking out of the back of his hand. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, closing his eyes against the blinding light and the pain that was starting to make itself known to him. His entire body throbbed. “Loki’s going to kill me.”

“That’s what I said,” came a woman’s voice from across the room. She closed the door behind her and walked over to Thor.

He blinked. She was beautiful, in an intimidating and exhausted kind of way. There were dark circles under her eyes and geometric tattoos climbing up her nervously-crossed arms. 

“But if you’re feeling alive,” she continued, “we may be able to get out of this with minimal bloodshed.”

“I’m sorry,” Thor said, as politely as he could when he could barely speak through the pain of what felt like a dozen knives stabbing him in the head. “Have we met before?”

There was a beat.

The woman shot the doctor a wide-eyed look, and he raised his hands in a calming gesture. 

“All right, Mr. Odinson, I just have a few questions to ask.”

*

When Loki finally showed up, Thor was swept with a wave of relief so strong that it almost left him breathless. He rubbed a hand across his chest and slowly inhaled against the inexplicable swell of emotion inside him.

“What happened?” Loki asked, his voice carefully steady. Thor heard the thread of anxiety in it though—stretched thin and liable to snap. Loki came over to Thor’s side and put his hand on top of Thor’s, squeezing. 

Without thinking about it, Thor turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. 

Fighting back the sudden urge to cry, Thor basked in how good it felt to have someone familiar—truly, one of Thor’s constants—with him now, as the woman—Val, she said her name was—explained the accident. 

It was as strange to hear it now as the first time, seeing in his mind’s eye something that happened to him but was completely unfamiliar at the same time. Like it was something that had happened to someone else, but had left _Thor_ in the hospital with his memory snatched from him. 

Loki’s hand squeezed again, tight, as Val finished her explanation. 

“And you don’t remember—any of it?” Loki asked, voice choked. 

“He seems to have lost about three years of recent memories from head trauma,” the doctor said, and Thor nodded, subdued. None of it seemed real, hadn’t felt real until the solidity of Loki’s hand in his. 

Loki made a noise, a sharp inhale, and went deathly pale. His hand trembled in the cradle of Thor’s palm.

“Hey, breathe, Lo, it’s okay,” Thor said, rubbing his thumb against Loki’s hand.

Loki nodded jerkily, his eyes squeezed shut.

“It could be worse,” Thor said, with a levity that he didn’t feel.

“How the fuck could it be worse,” Loki whispered, like he couldn’t trust his voice to carry his words.

“I could have forgotten you,” Thor said. He squeezed Loki’s hand again, three short pulses, and his brother weakly returned the gesture. 

Loki took a shaky breath and nodded again, and Thor could see him pulling himself back together. 

As the doctor started to explain their next steps, Thor sagged against Loki’s side, leaning his head against Loki’s stomach. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and concentrated on the gentle scratch of Loki’s fingers in his hair. 

*

Thor ended up spending a week at the hospital, being prodded and pricked and put through different tests with different machines. It was exhausting and tedious and boring at the same time, and the only thing that kept him sane was Loki, who, after disappearing for half a day to go home and pack his and Thor’s hospital stay bags, hadn’t left Thor’s side at all. 

Their parents came to visit two days in, having had to take the cross-country train to see Thor. It was nice to be coddled over for a bit, but in the end it did nothing for his actual condition. 

Retrograde amnesia, the doctors said.

And Thor was lucky it was only that—he shuddered to think about how the shock could have destroyed his nerves, could have fucked up his hands so he’d never be able to hold a pen or a brush again. 

It _could_ have been worse. All things considered, it wasn’t so bad, and the doctors sent him home with the hope that his memories would return to him in time.

*

Loki drove him home. To their home. The apartment they shared. 

It was a surprise to Thor, but not a bad one. Three years ago, in Thor’s memories, he and Loki lived in different cities, shuttling back and forth on a train for hours to see each other. It was nice to think of these things as pleasant surprises. It helped him feel less unmoored. 

Nothing really helped with the nausea, though, and by the time Loki slid into the garage and parked the car, Thor was taking deep breaths through his nose, trying not to puke. 

The apartment was nicer than Thor expected, even as he spent the first twenty minutes in it with his head stuck in the toilet bowl, heaving.

“Really love what you’ve done with the place,” Thor mumbled, pressing his head to cold porcelain. He let Loki sweep his hair back from his face and his nape, and hold a cool hand to his skin. 

“I let you pick the furniture,” Loki said, helping Thor sip from a cup of water, “if you can believe it.”

“Nice of you to respect my art degree,” Thor said, gingerly sitting up.

“You offered to pay with the money from your first art sale, and I was broke,” Loki snorted. 

“Sounds about right,” Thor said. He gargled the water around in his mouth and spat into the toilet. “Please tell me I’m rolling in it.”

“Yeah, but you blew it all on your collection of vintage bongs.”

“Don’t even joke,” Thor groaned.

“We have them in a glass case in the living room,” Loki said, sounding utterly serious. 

When Thor felt well enough to actually venture away from the cool embrace of the toilet, he found no bongs, but a surprisingly cozy home. There were stacks of books on the dining table, and coats and jackets hung over the backs of chairs and the sofa, but the mess made it look good. Made it feel lived in.

He sat on the couch and closed his eyes, drifting away in the sounds and smells of Loki making dinner.

Despite everything, this, right now, felt familiar. Dinner was nice—chicken fajitas and homemade tortillas, which Thor ate heartily. He hadn’t been in the mood or mindset to make conversation at the hospital, but right now he was more than happy to listen to Loki catch him up on the missing parts of his memories. Though Loki, being Loki, decided to make a game out of it.

“Your first big exhibit was centered around insect and bird genitalia—the literal birds and bees.”

“You once got so drunk that you puked on a canvas and put it up for exhibit.”

“Last week you dipped your paintbrush into my mug of tea.”

(Yes, no, and yes, sorry Loki, Thor _was_ a proper _artiste_.)

As the evening wound down, Thor was pleasantly full and lulled to contentment by Loki’s gentle teasing and the ease of their relationship. He knew things hadn’t always been so smooth between them, though in his memories, they had definitely been heading towards it. 

“Why’d we move in together?” Thor asked, folding the last of his tortilla in half and popping it into his mouth.

“I was broke straight out of my master’s program, and one of your paintings caught the eye of a very rich pervert and sold for a truly obscene amount of money,” Loki said, with a sly smile. “You were visiting a lot too, and the art scene here was starting to get _invigorating_ —your words, not mine, so—”

The way Loki said it, Thor felt as if there was more to the story. Before he could prod, though, Loki yawned, stretching his hands so far above his head that it made his shirt ride up. On his hip, Thor saw the black spill of a tattoo. 

“When did you get that?” Thor asked, raising an eyebrow.

Loki blinked, then smirked. “You’ll just have to remember for yourself,” he said.

“I sure hope I do,” Thor sighed. It had been nagging at him incessantly, the fear that he would never get his memories back.

“You will,” Loki said firmly. With that, he stood up and started gathering up the plates, clearing the table.

“I can do the dishes,” Thor said, also pushing his chair back.

“Don’t you dare,” Loki said sternly. “You go and rest.”

Thor sighed. He wanted to insist, but Loki was right. His head was starting to hurt again, a small tick that he knew could blow up into a blaring throb. 

*

That night, before Thor fell asleep, Loki knocked on his bedroom door. 

“Come in,” Thor said, and Loki sat at the edge of the bed.

“What did I have to bribe you with to get the better room?” Thor asked, because this room, which was apparently Thor’s, was definitely the master bedroom. It had its own bathroom, too.

Loki shook his head. “Again,” he said, “you better remember for yourself. Give that brain a good workout.”

“Ugh,” Thor said. He stuffed his face into a pillow. “You’re the worst.”

Loki’s hand settled on Thor’s foot, squeezing his ankle gently. “Do you need anything before bed? Did you take your meds?”

“Yeah,” Thor said. “What are the chances that I’ll wake up tomorrow and remember everything?”

“I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you,” Loki said. “Your brain’s going to fix itself before you know it.”

“Thank you,” Thor sighed, “For everything, Lo.”

Loki squeezed his foot again, then stood up.

He turned the lights off on his way out, and Thor said, “Good night,” as Loki opened the door. For a moment, there was only silence, and Thor hovered in that strange space between sleeping and waking, feeling around on the bed, strangely bereft at how expansive it was, though he’d always slept in large beds. His feet would hang off the edge otherwise. 

“Good night,” Loki said finally, like some sort of reassurance. Thor’s body certainly thought it was—he fell asleep as soon as the door clicked shut.

*

Thor got up early the next day. He moved quietly around the apartment, familiarizing himself with it. There were two bedrooms, his and Loki’s, and two bathrooms. A kitchen with a dining table and a living room next to it. He and Loki kept a surprising number of plants. Out on the balcony—much larger than Thor expected, another pleasant surprise—they had plant ladders filled to the brim with herbs. There was a pot of spring onions, a tub of bright red cherry tomatoes each as big as Thor’s thumb, even a small patch of okra. 

Following the motions that his body leaned into, Thor found the watering can in the corner and went to fill it up in the kitchen sink. He tended to the flowers, happy to fill in their names as he did, recognizing them from his mom’s garden: cosmos and hawkbits, violets, fuschia, petunias and touch-me-nots, trumpet vines, oleanders. A veritable meadow growing three floors above the ground. 

Afterwards, he rummaged around the living room until he found something he was expecting—a sketchbook, half-filled—and settled down to drink some coffee and peruse it. 

A lot of the drawings were botanical studies, following the style of old scientific manuscripts, though in some cases the sketches showed people—hands breaking open a pomegranate, lips pursed around a grape, teeth set to the soft skin of a peach. There were plenty of landscapes too, the silhouettes of trees and mountains, clouds done in clean strokes, etched with tiny birds. Frustratingly, though, none of the drawings sparked his memory. He put it aside, worrying his hands with his mug of coffee, and waited for Loki to wake up.

When Loki did stumble out of his room, he was wearing a hoodie that was too big for him, sleeves hanging down past his fingertips. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Thor, as if surprised to see him at all.

“I made coffee,” Thor said, raising his mug.

“Thank god you remember the important things,” Loki said, and plodded off into the kitchen.

“Do I have any more of these?” Thor asked, gesturing with a sketchbook when Loki came back, steaming his face above his coffee mug. “I just wonder if they’d jog my memory.”

Loki frowned, eyes half-closed. 

“I think you put them in storage, actually,” he said. “And I can never remember where you keep your keys.”

“That makes two of us,” Thor sighed.

Loki took a long, thoughtful sip of his coffee. 

“I can take you to the gallery, though,” he said. 

“Oh,” Thor said, feeling stupid. Duh. “Yeah, that’d be great. Can we, uh, walk there? I don’t think I want to get into a car, honestly.”

Loki shrugged. “Sure. It’s about a thirty minute walk, but it’ll be good to get out, anyway. You’re probably dying to work out, huh?”

“Ugh,” Thor said in response. He rubbed at his face. No strenuous activity for the next two weeks at least, the doctor had said. “I can feel my muscles starting to atrophy as we speak.”

“Tragic,” Loki said, “what the fuck are you gonna do when you stop looking like a haphazard sack of lemons?”

“Hey,” Thor said, even as his mouth twitched into a grin. 

Loki snickered. 

“The gallery should be open by now,” he said, draining his mug. “Val keeps odd hours.”

*

It was spring, but still cold enough that they needed coats outside. Loki helped Thor find his, rifling through the pile of clothes on the sofa and handing Thor a bright red parka. It looked and felt expensive, and again Thor wondered what had happened in his life that led him here. 

Their walk was brisk and energizing, chilly but better for it, though Thor was disappointed that none of the surroundings were familiar to him. It was strange, also, to follow where Loki led him. It wasn’t that Loki was a bad guide, but it felt backwards to Thor, following a step behind Loki, trusting his brother to take him where they needed to go. And yet, Thor found that he trusted Loki implicitly. 

And Loki was patient with him, more patient than Thor would have expected. He knew that his brother was the type of person to walk towards a destination without heeding distractions, but today he stopped periodically, pointing out things that should have been familiar to Thor—the waffle stall whose owner waved and greeted them by name, the library with large glass windows, the cafe that apparently made Thor’s favorite tea blend. 

Thor nodded along, but the only familiar thing about the whole endeavour was the frustration that reared its ugly head and made him feel like an asshole. 

At one point, Loki turned and pointed at a conveyor belt sushi place, claiming that Thor held the record for most plates eaten there in one night. Thor’s hand moved automatically, reaching for the other hand hanging by Loki’s side. 

It wasn’t until he touched Loki that he even realized what he was doing. 

“Thor?” Loki asked, his brow etching into a frown. He touched Thor’s hand too, and gave Thor’s fingers a squeeze.

Thor recalled Loki’s palm on his forehead, his fingers around Thor’s ankle. Had he and Loki always touched this much? Or had they only grown so comfortable in recent years? 

“Sorry,” Thor said, shaking his head, “I thought I remembered something, but it was just…” 

“We’re almost at the gallery,” Loki said, with an encouraging smile. He pulled away and began to cross the street.

Thor flexed his fingers, confused and off-kilter.

Why had he wanted to hold Loki’s hand?

*

There was a sculpture of a vagina in the lobby of the gallery, done in plaster and bright pink paint. 

“The pinkest pink,” Loki said, before Thor could ask. “It’s one of Val’s. She owns the place.”

“Nice,” Thor said, nodding. Loki walked them up to the woman at reception and introduced—or re-introduced, Thor supposed—him to Darcy.

“Hope you get your memory back,” she said cheerfully, waving as Loki led Thor deeper into the gallery. There were a few installations—an entire room strung with reflective metal balls, a corner with five television sets showing black and white footage, a glass wall covered in smudged handprints. 

Loki led him past all of those, though, past the paintings of balloon animals, past a meticulous graphite drawing of a beach at low tide that took up half a wall, past a row of corvids in flight, twisted from burnished copper wiring. 

Finally, Loki stopped in front of a glass door.

“Oh,” Thor said, dumbfounded, when Loki gestured at the sign on the wall. 

THE THOR ODINSON COLLECTION, it said.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Thor said. 

“Like I said,” Loki said, pushing the door open. “You’re sort of a big deal. How else would you have been able to afford all those vintage bongs?”

Thor’s retort died on his lips when he entered the room and was confronted with the first painting, hung on the wall directly in front of him. 

He walked forward as if in a trance.

 _The Yggdrasil_ , the plaque read. It was as tall as Thor was, and twice as wide: a painstakingly-rendered painting of a giant sequoia that Thor had been obsessed with as a child. 

A closer inspection revealed animals, people, buildings, and mythological creatures wandering the tree’s sprawling branches, but the outward effect was of a vibrant and towering natural wonder, thriving as a living thing—the World Tree depicted not as a myth, but a reality. 

It was a piece that Thor had always dreamt of creating, and now here it was, as if plucked fully-formed from his memories.

“Yeah,” Loki said, pride in his voice, when Thor only stood there, feeling winded. 

“You could probably use some privacy,” Loki said softly, and before Thor could say anything, Loki turned around and left the room. The doors swung closed behind him.

Thor took a deep breath.

*

The room—the _Thor Odinson Collection_ , holy fuck—wasn’t actually that large, and Thor guessed that there were maybe twenty paintings in total. He and Val would have gone through his body of work, picking only the best to display here.

Upon entering the glass double-doors, two walls on either side led the viewer’s sight to _The Yggdrasil,_ the most visually-arresting piece in the room. From there, there were two paths, one to the left and one to the right, and on the opposing walls hung various paintings. 

Thor’s paintings. 

The specifics were foreign to him, but the style, the subject—there could be no mistaking them. Thor had always been fascinated with the natural world. In art school, he’d taken extra botany and zoology classes online, simply to better understand the inner workings of plants and animals, their biology, and the vital roles they played in keeping the planet alive.

Three years ago, he’d been working a gruelling, unfulfilling design job. Now, he lived with his brother in a sunny apartment. They kept plants and had an expensive coffee machine with too many buttons. Thor had a permanent collection in someone’s gallery. He was making _money,_ enough to live on, out of his art. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. 

Most of the works were what Thor had expected, but they managed to surprise him anyway. 

He’d started his foray into art with faithful renderings of plants, realistic to an almost scientific degree. The pieces in the gallery were more fanciful, and much more personal.

There was a triptych of an oak tree: from seed, to seedling, to maturity.

There was a set of thirteen circular paintings, filled with depictions of plant vascular tissue, insect wings, fungal spores, blood cells. The microscopic that made up the whole. 

There were paintings that suggested and skewed scale. Cage-like mangrove roots rising up from the mud. A single dandelion seed head. The underside of a leaf, near-translucent, with each vein interconnected. A dragonfly’s wing, refracting light into color. The pit of a peach, ridged and so well-textured that Thor had to resist the urge to reach out and touch.

They were all beautiful. They were all, somehow, his. 

Thor didn’t know what he had wanted to gain by coming here, but instead of having his memory jogged, the longer he stayed, the more alienated he felt, like he was staring at the artefacts of another person’s life. 

He closed his eyes as his head began to throb. The room made a loop, with _The Yggdrasil_ in the middle, and he made his way over to the left wall. 

Something caught his eye. There was one painting in the corner that contained a human shape. It was a deceptively-simple figure drawing in thick, confident strokes, creating the image of a person with their upper half leaning out of an invisible window. The window itself only existed by inference from the depiction of the sky: a clean square of bright blue brushed with clouds. The viewer saw the figure from the back, and their posture, the placement of their elbows, gave them the appearance of movement. 

Thor stood there, transfixed, his heart beating too loud.

When he heard the door open, letting in the noise of footsteps, of other people, he took a sharp breath and realized that his cheeks were wet with tears. 

*

Val invited them out to lunch. To make up for the whole accident, she said, looking genuinely contrite. They went to an expensive-looking cafe beside the gallery, and Thor wracked his brain while trying to seem attentive. He thought of himself, or at least some version of himself, eating here regularly, and felt miserable about it. 

_Why_ couldn’t he remember any of it? 

“You usually get the avocado toast,” Val said, when Thor found that he couldn’t really focus on the words on the menu yet.

“I have no idea if that’s true,” Thor said, but he ordered it anyway.

When Loki excused himself to the restroom, Thor leaned in close to Val and asked, “Hey. Uh. Am I seeing anyone?”

Val snorted into her mimosa.

“Seriously?” she said.

“I’m asking you this in utmost confidence,” Thor intoned seriously. “Because you’re supposed to be my best friend, even though I can’t remember you. Which is also your fault.”

Val rolled her eyes, but her face took on a thoughtful cast. “I’ve never been able to guess. You’ve been pretty serious about your art since I’ve known you.”

Thor frowned. He thought of himself as an outgoing person. He found it easy to fall in love and get attached. He’d dated a lot in college, and then some while he was working. None of them ever really worked out but…Thor knew that he didn’t like being lonely. 

“It’s just always something you’ve kept close to your chest,” Val continued. “Why’d you ask?”

Thor shrugged, resisting the urge to ask about the figure in the painting. He didn’t even know if it was based on a real person.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Just wondering, I guess.”

*

The thing Thor realized, then, over the next few days, was that he wasn’t really lonely at all. 

Loki worked from home as a digital archivist, and Thor was taking an enforced break—resting on his laurels, Loki teased. But there was really nothing much to do except wait for the opening night of his newest exhibition.

They spent all day together, which Thor hadn’t realized was a thing they could do without wanting to kill each other. 

It was difficult to read, still, and staring at a screen made him want to throw up, so Thor spent most of his time out in the balcony, sketching. At first he started with a catalogue of the plants in the house, but over the next few days started drawing other things. Loki helped him dig out a set of watercolors and Thor spent an entire day painting flower petals. 

Art had always helped him focus and let go at the same time. Thoughts flitted through his head, fleeting. Maybe they were memories. Maybe not. But Thor tried to get them down on paper anyway—and at the end of the day, he and Loki would huddle over dinner and try to figure out what Thor attempted to grapple from the strange void in his head.

“Oh,” Loki said, pointing to a vague beach scenery that Thor had quickly drafted in a corner of his sketchbook. “This looks like the beach in Italy with the vending machine that sold popsicles.”

And, sure enough, Thor realized that the box he’d been compelled to draw at the side of the road was a vending machine.

“We went to Italy?” Thor asked.

“Yeah,” Loki said. “Two years ago.” He sighed. “I loved that beach.”

That night, Thor dreamed of it—but it wasn’t the beach that he remembered. It was Loki, lit up by the glow from the vending machine. His mouth was pursed around the tip of a popsicle, cherry red.

The very next day, Thor walked down to the convenience store and bought a 12-pack of cherry-flavored popsicles and left them in the freezer for Loki to find. Late in the afternoon, Loki wandered out into the balcony, where Thor had been sketching the same set of hands for an hour. 

“Did you remember?” Loki asked. He was sucking on a popsicle. 

“Not a lot,” Thor said. “But I remembered that that’s your favorite.”

It felt like a breakthrough. Loki nodded after a moment, the expression on his face unreadable.

“Nothing else?” he asked.

“Nope,” Thor said. “But it’ll come back.”

“Yeah,” Loki said. He licked some juice off his wrist, distracted, and Thor finished the line he was drawing—the bony curve of someone’s wrist.

*

Thor missed his phone. He missed his laptop. He missed being able to _read_. 

“Sit down and I’ll read you something,” Loki snapped one morning, tired of Thor pacing around the apartment like a caged lion. 

So they sprawled themselves out on the cool wooden floor, basking in the shafts of spring sunlight from the window. 

Thor closed his eyes and let Loki’s voice wash over him: 

_Our spirit persists like a man struggling_

_through the frozen valley_

_who suddenly smells flowers_

_and realizes the snow is melting_

_out of sight on top of the mountain,_

_knows that spring has begun._

That afternoon, Thor drew horses, spending half an hour just to get their hooves right while Loki argued with someone over a conference call.

Loki looked at him strangely when Thor showed him the sketch, then went to his room and came back with a jade statuette of a horse in the same pose that Thor had drawn.

“It’s my zodiac,” Loki said. “You got it for me when you went to Japan for a show.”

It was progress.

*

Their parents came over to visit. Thor let himself be fussed over, and then Odin and Loki commandeered the kitchen to make all of his favorites while Frigga mixed drinks.

“Tell us about your new exhibition,” Frigga said that night over dinner.

There were fish tacos, shrimp skewers, a pot of mussels in garlic butter and white wine, and lots of crusty bread. Thor was convinced that he must have moved here for the seafood alone.

“I don’t actually know what it is,” Thor admitted. “Val suggested that I surprise myself—all that was left to do was hang up the paintings anyway.”

“It does seem like a unique opportunity,” Odin said.

“Let’s hope it’s nothing too awful,” Frigga said with a wink. 

“Have you seen it, Lo?” Thor asked. 

Loki swallowed his mouthful and nodded.

“I won’t be able to attend the opening night anyway,” Loki said. “I have a work conference across town.”

“Oh,” Thor said. He was surprised at the disappointment he felt, at how heavily it settled in his chest.

“But you’ll come to see it, right?” he prodded.

Loki’s fork tapped against his plate in a disjointed rhythm as he eyed the bread.

“Of course,” he said, like an afterthought. He didn’t look at Thor, though.

*

After their parents left and they were loading up the dishwasher, Thor said, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot there, by the way.”

Loki straightened up, pushed the dishwasher closed.

“I didn’t feel put on the spot,” he said.

Thor didn’t let up. He remembered how it used to be between them, better probably than his present-future self did. Thor had made sure to steer the conversation gently into Loki’s territory throughout the night, to balance the attention equally between them.

“Thor,” Loki said, smiling a little. “It’s fine. We’ve…we’ve worked things out.”

“Good,” Thor said. It still hung over his head, the unintentional neglect Loki had gone through when they were younger, the way Thor had hoarded people’s attention without care or ill-intent.

“Yeah,” Loki said. He reached up into the cupboard to rifle through their boxes of tea. “We’ve worked a lot of things out in the past three years.”

“Good,” Thor said again. “You know I love you, Lo.”

“I know,” Loki said. He plucked a box from the back of the cupboard and turned to Thor. “Tea?”

“I think I’ll head in,” Thor said. He leaned in to hug his brother, and without thinking, tilted his face towards Loki’s. It was only because Loki turned his head at the last second that the kiss landed on his cheek instead of his mouth, and they both froze for a moment. 

“You sap,” Loki said then, light and easy, and leaned up to kiss Thor’s forehead. 

Then he grabbed his tea and busied himself with the kettle, and Thor retreated into his room, pushing the incident out of his mind. 

*

Thor didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous.

Loki had left earlier that day after a rushed breakfast, and now Thor had the rest of the day to occupy himself, feeling restless and unmotivated at the same time. 

He was considering taking himself out to the library or the mall when someone knocked on the door.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Val said, adjusting her sunglasses in greeting.

“My hero,” Thor laughed, relieved.

They took a walk down to the park, which was bustling with people enjoying their weekend.

“So, have you remembered stuff yet?” Val asked. 

“Um, kind of?” Thor said, wincing. “Bits and pieces, but sometimes I’m not sure if they’re even memories or just, you know, stuff that shows up in my head.”

“You mean _thoughts_?” Val snorted.

“Shut up, you know what I meant,” Thor laughed.

“Yeah, well, just take it easy,” Val said. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

“I have a bit of a weird question. Sorry, it’s just, Loki’s so cryptic about this stuff, he thinks everything has to be a game of two truths, one lie. Have he and I always lived together?”

“Sounds like him,” Val laughed. “And no? When you first moved here, you were living on your own. Or, at least, you were when we first met. And then you had your first successful art sale—you’re welcome, by the way—and blew up a bit. And then you got your apartment. And your brother moved in with you.”

“Huh,” Thor said. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t put a finger to it. “That’s what Loki said, but I just feel like I’m missing something. I mean, I love him, of course I do, but we didn’t always have the best relationship. He was envious and I was a prick. I just wonder what changed in the last three years.”

Val hummed. “From what I’ve seen, you two are like, unhealthily codependent. You’ve unironically referred to him as your _muse_ multiple times.”

“I draw plants,” Thor said, blinking.

Val smirked.

“Oh my god, you people need to stop keeping things from the amnesiac,” Thor groaned.

“Hey, you’re the one who got to wake up in a world where you’re doing great and thriving! Let us have our fun too!” Val grinned. 

“Okay, okay,” Thor said, rolling his eyes as she ineffectually pushed at his shoulder. “One last thing, though.”

Val raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure I’m not dating anyone? I just feel like, I don’t know. There’s always someone at the back of my mind.”

Val sighed. “If you are, you haven’t told me. Or anyone else. It’s actually—well, you’ll see.”

“I will?” Thor said, surprised.

“Yeah,” Val said, punching him on the shoulder. “And don’t be late to your own show.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Thor said.

*

Thor was late to his own show.

In his defense, he had lost track of time when a new sketch burst clearly into his mind, and he’d spent a few hours on the couch, drawing a pair of hands clasped around a few sprigs of lavender, engrossed in the shape of the individual florets, the idea of pale hands flecked with soil, long fingers entwined—and by the time he’d looked up, it was almost time for his show and he still hadn’t showered.

When he got to the gallery—chancing a cab instead of walking and making himself even more late—there were already people milling about in the New Exhibits room. 

“Thor!” Darcy greeted as soon as he walked in. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“I don’t have a phone,” Thor said, eyes darting around. “It got fried along with my memories.” There were a lot more people than he’d expected, and the only people he could recognize out of the crowd were his parents. 

_I wish Loki were here_ , he thought with a pang.

Before long, though, he was ushered through the crowd to the front of the room, and someone thrust a microphone in his hands.

His mind went blank as he thought of what to say—he ended up making a joke about them discovering his exhibit at the same time, and tried to make an insight about rediscovering the self. He ended with a sappy message of thanks to everyone who was there.

“And I’m really glad to meet all of you again,” he said, smiling sheepishly. 

Then the mic was switched out for a flute of champagne, and Thor could finally turn around and see what the hell he’d spent the last year of his life working on.

It was a series of twelve paintings, and each of them was named after a month.

Thor had thought that would imply some sort of seasonal motif, knowing his own inclinations, but that wasn’t what the paintings were about at all. 

It was all the same figure as the singular painting in his collection that had struck him to tears. The same simple, bold brushstrokes, crafting the form of a person in various poses. And, in every piece, a square slice of sky. 

_“Well, you’ll see,” Val had said._

Thor certainly did. But he didn’t understand at all. In one painting, the figure was kneeling on the ground, bent over something. They were sitting, looking down at their empty hands. Staring out the door into a field of wheat. Showering with the curtains drawn open, light spilling from the square above their head. 

This figure was someone Thor loved, that much was clear. It was also clear that he didn’t remember a damn thing about them.

*

Thor didn’t really know how he made it through the rest of the night. At one point, Tony Stark showed up— _Tony Fucking Stark_ —and reserved two of the paintings. 

Thor balked at his own prices. But not even the thought of all that money made him feel less possessive. What had he been thinking, putting these up for sale? 

He left Darcy to finish up the details of the sale, then went to find Val.

“You don’t look too hot,” she said. Her earrings were huge, iridescent hoops, and she was talking closely—very closely—to a blonde woman.

“Yeah, I just—that was Tony Stark? And it’s blowing my mind, but this is all literally, like, making my brain hurt. I’m going to step out for some fresh air.”

Val gave him a sympathetic look, a gentle punch to the shoulder, and a promise to hold the fort down while he was gone.

Thor went outside to sit on the stairs that led up to the gallery and put his head in his hands until he remembered how to breathe.

“Thor?”

He looked up, then forgot how to breathe all over again.

“Loki,” he said, surprised. His brother leaned over him, one hand reaching out to touch, but all he did was press his hand to Thor’s forehead.

“You look sick,” Loki said, frowning.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at some work conference?”

“Ended early,” Loki said, smooth.

It was almost certainly a lie, but Thor would wrap himself up in it happily.

“Do you wanna go inside?”

Something complicated passed across Loki’s face, his expression shifting in the yellow light from above them.

“Actually, I’m starving because I had to get on the train to make it here. So I think you owe me dinner.”

Thor stood up, almost too eager. “Can you text Val and Darcy? Oh, and mom.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone all the same.

*

They ended up eating at a pad thai place, sitting at a rickety table outside the tiny restaurant that Loki insisted was one of their favorites. 

Thor’s mouth watered as the server brought them two plates heaped full of steaming noodles.

He fiddled with a slice of lime, looking up just in time to see Loki’s pink tongue dart out to lick drops of lime juice off his fingertips.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asked, when Thor went still.

“Nothing,” Thor said hastily, squeezing his own lime over the noodles and getting ready to inhale them. “I think I just—remembered. This. You.”

“Oh,” Loki said. He stared at his food, biting his lip. “Good. That’s great. Did seeing the new exhibit help?”

“No,” Thor said, trying and failing not to sound too sullen. “Did you—I mean, did you know I was painting—that? That I was painting someone?”

It was Loki’s turn to go still, his fork halfway through a twist.

“Yeah,” he said, soft, after a too-long silence.

Thor’s eyes widened. “Do you know who it is?”

Loki’s expression was carefully blank. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Thor asked, suddenly wary.

“I…I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Loki hedged.

“I—why?” Thor asked. He felt that same strange sensation again, of something on the tip of his tongue. An idea almost within his reach.

“It would be better if you found out on your own,” Loki said. He bit his lip, then looked up and met Thor’s eyes. “Sorry, but just. Trust me?”

Thor deflated. “Okay,” he sighed. He pushed the figure out of his mind, and focused on the one right in front of him.

“So,” Loki said, “did Tony Stark show up?”

“Oh my god,” Thor said. “How is this my life?”

*

The next morning, Thor walked out of his bedroom and found Loki leaning out the window in the living room, his forearms resting on the windowsill. The sky was a blue square around his body, framing him perfectly.

 _I’ve seen this before_ , Thor realized like a bolt of lightning. 

And then, of course: the painting in the gallery. How many times had he seen Loki in this exact position? Enough times to paint him, apparently.

Thor’s mind burst into a riot of questions, images. Why did he paint Loki? Were all the other paintings also Loki? The hands in his sketchbook—the teeth poised to sink into a peach—lavender was Loki’s favorite scent—

Loki turned around, wiping his face. When he looked up, his eyes were rimmed red, like he’d been crying. 

Thor’s chest _ached_ , swift and painful. 

Before he could think about it, he had Loki in his arms, and Loki clutched at him, hands fisting into Thor’s shirt, hard and desperate.

“Lo,” Thor murmured. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

His heart was going a mile a minute, thumping faster and faster.

“It’s nothing,” Loki sniffled. “Just, I’m tired. I had a stressful email from work. I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll make breakfast,” Thor said. 

“I’m meeting a colleague for brunch,” Loki said, apologetic. He sniffled again, then released Thor and took a step back. 

Thor nodded. He cupped Loki’s neck, a gesture that was both familiar and not. He knew he used to do this. Didn’t know if he still did. Didn’t know why it made Loki’s expression crumple. Didn’t know why his gaze dropped to Loki’s lips, bitten red.

 _Popsicles in Italy_ , Thor thought. _Horses, sprigs of lavender. Sliced limes. Loki’s mouth._

“I should go,” Loki mumbled, and Thor’s hand fell away. 

In Loki’s absence, Thor sat down on the sofa and tried to feel around his lost memories, a blind man groping for objects in the darkness. The first painting was Loki. The other paintings were too.

Thor was in love with that figure.

He was in love with his brother.

*

It all made sense, in hindsight. The _urges_ he had. The dreams, the way he had drawn bits and pieces of Loki without realizing it. His mind couldn’t remember, but his body clearly could. His hands. His heart, made of muscle and memory: of course it would not have forgotten. 

And Thor had asked. He’d asked Loki if he knew who Thor had painted. Loki had said _yes_. 

Thor wanted to throw up. It was one thing to be in love with your brother—and another thing entirely to paint him into pieces so clearly dripping with longing, and _displaying_ those pieces for everyone to see. It didn’t matter if no one else knew who it was.

Thor knew. _Loki_ knew. 

A dull, pulsating beat was coming to life in Thor’s head. He rubbed his palms across his face, scrubbing hard, as if that would erase the loud, insistent thoughts railing at him. 

Loki knew, but he didn’t seem to be disgusted by Thor. Hadn’t Thor remarked this whole time that he and Loki seemed to be strangely at ease? And they were still living together, the evidence of their shared life strewn all about the apartment. There was something else, something that was coalescing like a storm cloud in Thor’s mind.

He stood up abruptly.

He tugged on his coat, grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall, and left the apartment. 

*

Thor let his feet take him to where he needed to go. He couldn’t quite remember which directions to take, but he was seized by some innominate instinct, propelled through unfamiliar streets, until he found himself in front of the gallery.

“Hey, Thor,” Darcy greeted with a bright wave.

Thor nodded distractedly, feeling awful for ignoring her, but needing to go, needing to _see—_

Loki was already in the room when Thor pushed the door open. 

All at once, Thor understood why no one would have realized who the paintings were. It wasn’t just their ambiguity, their sparseness of detail. 

None of the figures that Thor had created with his own hands could possibly compare to the person that had inspired them. They were shadows, poor imitations. That much was obvious now, as Thor beheld his brother amongst the futile attempts to capture his likeness.

Loki turned around slowly, his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat. 

_I love him_ , Thor thought in the space between his heartbeats. _I love him. I love him._

“I’m sorry,” Thor said, the words dropping out of his mouth like stones. 

Loki closed his eyes, placed a hand on the side of his face and sighed.

“What are you apologizing for?” Loki asked. He sounded exhausted. His shoulders sagged, and he looked more scarecrow than man. “The paintings? I gave you permission. It’s fine.”

“Not just—not just the paintings,” Thor said, his mouth moving faster than his thoughts could catch up. “I remember. Loki, I remember.”

Loki’s head snapped up. His expression was cracked open, his eyes wide, his mouth turned down into a trembling frown.

“What do you remember?” 

“Loving you. Being in love with you. I’m…I’m in love with you.” Thor took a deep breath, and choked halfway on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

Loki, who had been frozen in place, flickered suddenly into action. He strode towards Thor, who stumbled backwards, shaking his head.

“I’ll get rid of the paintings,” Thor said desperately, “I’ll, I’ll move out, you can keep the apartment, whatever you need, I—”

“Thor,” Loki said, when he was close enough to touch, and no matter how badly Thor wanted to run, his body swayed towards Loki. “We’ve been dating for three years.”

Thor blinked.

Loki kissed him.

Thor’s entire body jolted like a live wire.

He stared, speechless, as Loki pulled away. The distance between their faces was scant. Thor wanted to lean in again, and again. He could. He could _do_ that. Because he loved Loki and Loki loved him _back_.

“Did that do anything?” Loki asked, brow furrowed. “Do you remember now?”

“No,” Thor said, shaking his head, “but I think we should try again.”

*

It was like tree rings, Thor thought. Cut through a tree old enough and you’d see the evidence of the life it had lived; the spaces between rings were wider in seasons of abundance, and narrower in seasons of scarcity. Scientists could date back hundreds, thousands of years, just by looking at those rings.

Over the past three years, Thor imagined himself gorging on the summer of his and Loki’s love. He imagined the evidence of it suffused down to his bones, his atoms and molecules. 

Cut Thor open and what would you see?

“Ew,” Loki said, without heat, leaning up to kiss Thor again, their feet tangling together under the blankets. The bed felt just the right size now, with his brother beside him. “It’d just be blood and guts.”

“It would be _love_ ,” Thor insisted, though he let Loki kiss him quiet again. 

“Do you really not remember, still?” Loki asked, exasperated. The exasperation was good, familiar, welcomed. Better than the quiet desperation with which Loki had confessed to him how terrified he’d been. How he’d thought that Thor would never remember, how Loki would have had to go on with the rest of his life as the only person who knew of the love they’d shared.

The idea alone had been unbearable. Thor had no idea how Loki had _lived_ it. 

Thor shook his head, palming the tattoo on Loki’s hip. It was a single, bold brush stroke, like the ones that made up Thor’s paintings of him. There was a story there, Thor knew. 

He couldn’t wait to remember it. 

For now though, there were other matters demanding his attention. Such as his brother, pressed warm against the length of him. Maybe Thor’s brain didn’t quite remember what to do about that—but his body certainly did. 

“Oh?” Loki said, in mock surprise, “what’s this, Thor?” 

Loki’s hand wandered between them, nimble fingers coming to rest on Thor’s thigh where it was slotted between Loki’s legs. Thor could suddenly feel where the pads of Loki’s fingers touched him, inexplicably warm and perilously close to where his cock was starting to tent his jeans.

Thor wiggled down the bed till he and Loki were facing each other, so close that their lips met again without thought, a mere consequence of their proximity. Fuck, _how_ had Thor ever forgotten how good this felt?

“How do we—” Thor started, then faltered when Loki pushed at his chest, just a little, just a nudge, and Thor went sprawling on his back, his legs splaying open as Loki slid himself in between them.

“Oh,” Thor breathed, flushing all over so quickly that it was dizzying. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, wholly unprepared for the rush of arousal that overcame him in this position. 

“Don’t be shy,” Loki teased. Two fingers pressed up under Thor’s chin, and he opened his eyes as Loki leaned down over him, his long hair tickling Thor’s face. The smug expression on his brother’s face made Thor’s clothing feel very, very unnecessary.

“Unexpected?” Loki asked, still smiling, beginning to rock slowly against Thor, heat and friction building up between them.

“Yes,” Thor gasped, “but not—I mean—it’s good.” 

“High praise,” Loki said dryly, but his smile had gone wicked, a sharp delighted curl that Thor managed to catch before Loki tucked his face against his neck and _bit down_. 

The noise that left Thor’s mouth was downright unholy. 

“Be nice to me,” Thor gasped, trying and failing to sound disgruntled. It came out as a whine instead, and Loki gave him a conciliatory nuzzle to the neck, looking sheepish as he pulled away. 

“You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you,” Loki murmured. “I had to keep telling myself—” he broke off, his expression folding into one of pain, and Thor’s heart twisted viciously as Loki put a shaking hand on his cheek. His eyes were shining, his mouth trembling. _All_ of him was trembling, Thor realized. Little earthquakes under Loki’s skin. As if he had held himself together for as long as he could, and was starting to crumble apart.

“I’m sorry,” Thor said, shaking his head, his own eyes burning with tears. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, if—if it had been me. I never wanted to do that to you, Lo, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re never allowed to do something so reckless again,” Loki said, his voice rough, and Thor had to pull him down for a kiss, deep and slow, wrapping his arms tight around his brother’s back to feel him, solid and whole.

Then Loki ground their hips together and Thor’s cock reminded him that it was still hard and ready to go. 

“Wait,” Loki mumbled, nipping at his lips and pulling away with a hand on Thor’s chest. “We have to get undressed in one go or this is going to take _forever_.”

“I don’t mind taking forever,” Thor said, and groaned when Loki pressed his knee pointedly against Thor’s cock. “Fuck, okay, you’re right. Just let me—” Thor leaned up to kiss Loki again, sliding his hands under Loki’s shirt and running them up his ribcage.

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki whimpered, his hips stuttering when Thor’s thumbs rubbed circles around his nipples. “Fuck, I swear to god if you make me come before I get to fuck you—”

Thor’s brain short-circuited. 

“If that’s what you want, I mean,” Loki said, brow furrowing.

“Is it—” Thor cleared his throat. “Is it usually what I want?”

“We switch,” Loki said. He licked his lips. “But you do—you _do_ enjoy it a lot. In my experience.”

Thor nodded slowly, trying to digest this new information. His head went into autopilot, buzzing with static until he found himself naked, legs spreading automatically as he watched Loki, equally naked, reach between his ass and rub the pads of his fingers against Thor’s rim. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Loki murmured, his touch feather-light. Thor’s head thumped against the pillow as he stared at the ceiling, mouth falling open. His back arched without his input, toes curling into the bed, and he had to shake his head and choke out: “I don’t think we’ll need to.”

Muscle memory, Thor thought, half-hysterical as his ass twitched and _spread_ around Loki’s fingers, welcoming them, oh _fuck_ , he was clenching like he wanted them _in_ , deeper, _more_ —

“Good?” Loki asked, though the satisfied look on his face made it clear he knew it _was_. 

Thor licked his lips, nodding.

“More?” Loki asked, his grin turning distinctly shark-like. His fingers nudged in deeper, rubbing into him in a way that made Thor’s body go tight with pleasure. His cock twitched, hard and heavy between his legs and he felt stupidly, helplessly grateful that he hadn’t lost this forever.

“More,” Thor sighed, “oh, fuck, Lo. That’s so good, _nngh_ , ffffuck.”

“You’re taking it so well,” Loki murmured, his other hand rubbing at Thor’s chest, fingers running across his nipples. “Look at you. You don’t even remember, but you’re so good for me. You always have been.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor gasped, shuddering. The touch was one thing, Loki’s fingers expertly unspooling him, but the praise was another thing entirely. Thor had to breathe through his mouth, blinking back tears. 

“What do you need?” Loki asked, leaning in to kiss Thor. His lips were so soft, silky as petals, and Thor remembered the flavor of chapstick Loki liked. Honey and rose, and he always kept a tube in Thor’s studio. Oh, and there it was, a flash of them on the floor of the studio, Thor riding Loki’s cock while his fingers painted Loki’s chest in swirls of green and gold. 

“Your cock,” Thor sighed, feeling himself flush just from saying it. “Please.”

Loki’s fingers slipped out of him, scraping at his sensitive rim before pushing back in, three this time, accepted by Thor’s body just as easily.

“So eager,” Loki said, his sharp grin melting into something softer, fonder. 

“In for a penny, in for a pound?” Thor said, laughing a little. He arched his back with another sigh, then reached down and hooked his hands under his knees, pulling them to his chest. Oh, that felt _incredible_. He bit down on his lip and rolled his hips _down_ , into Loki’s fingers, sending them both swearing for a good fifteen seconds.

“I’ll show you _pound_ ,” Loki grumbled, and he sounded so annoyed that Thor burst into giggles, losing his grasp on his legs as his body shook with laughter. Loki’s mouth twitched, then he was laughing too, pulling his fingers out of Thor and draping himself over Thor’s body, the two of them giggling as they kissed, legs tangling together, moaning and melting as their cocks rubbed against each other.

“I love you,” Thor said, nosing at Loki’s cheek and smiling in a way that he knew made his face crinkle. “I love you so much, Lo.”

“And don’t you ever forget it,” Loki said sternly, pinching Thor’s nipple. His hands spread Thor’s legs apart again, the motion steady and sure.

“You should remind me,” Thor gasped, “please, I need— _ohhhh_ , fffffuck—”

Loki’s mouth opened in a long, satisfied moan as his cock sank into Thor, and Thor’s head spun as he welcomed Loki into him. It felt so _easy_. His fingers pawed inelegantly at Loki’s shoulders, reeling him back in for wet, messy kisses.

“That’s _so_ good,” Thor whined as Loki rolled his hips, slow and deliberate. “Oh _fuck_ , Lo.”

“Always so hungry for it,” Loki murmured, the silken ribbon of his voice caressing Thor’s sensitive skin. 

Thor hummed happily, running his hands down Loki’s back to grope his ass and spur him into thrusting harder, delighting in how his own body revelled at being taken. He let his head loll back as he and Loki moved together, his mind flashing through thoughts and memories—

_their first kiss inside the apartment, up against the window, the chill of winter cold against Thor’s back_

_long days in the studio, Loki massaging his hands, syrupy light sluicing in from the sunset_

_his hair strewn like hay across the balcony, rustled up as the sky portended rain, Loki carefully wielding a silver pair of scissors_

_Loki leaning outside the window, perched as if to take flight. “The apartment looks great,” he said. “You look happy,” Thor said, and for once Loki agreed. “I love you,” Loki said, and there was no edge to it, nothing for him to cut himself upon. “Move in with me,” Thor said. And Loki said_ —

“Oh my god,” Thor gasped, his cock twitching and leaking as Loki wrapped his hand around it. “Did we— _fuck_ —did we fuck in Val’s fucking _gallery_?”

Loki laughed, delighted, and Thor remembered him saying _yes_ : to moving in, to loving Thor, to fucking in the bathroom stall in Val’s fucking gallery, _yes_ a hundred times, a thousand times. 

“Make me come,” Thor begged, “Loki, please, I need—”

“ _Yesss_ ,” Loki hissed, his hands knowing exactly the best way to play Thor, touching spots Thor didn’t even realize were sensitive, hitching Thor’s legs higher, just rolling his hips now, keeping Thor fucked full, sobbing, “ _Thor_ , _fuck, so good, Thor_.”

Thor came with a soft cry, remembering: _glass shattered on the floor from an ill-hung picture frame, a harvest of carrots each the length and size of a finger, rubbing aloe on Loki’s sunburned shoulders, the bright red parka Loki bought him for his birthday_. The millions of little moments that made up a life. His life, their life. 

Thor stroked Loki’s back as his brother shuddered through his orgasm, feeling spent and restless all at once. 

“Do I have a tattoo on my lower back?” Thor said, when he could get his mouth to make words.

“Please don’t tell me that fucking brought your memories back,” Loki said, heaving himself off Thor just to crawl high enough that he could tuck Thor’s head to his chest. 

“There has to be something to it,” Thor said, mouthing lazily at Loki’s skin, kissing his nipples. “Synapses, electrons. Electric shock.”

“Mmm, well if that’s what’s needed, I suppose we’ll have to keep at it,” Loki said, cuddling close. “And yes. It’s my thumbprint, because you’re a sap.”

“Says the person who has my brushstroke on his hip,” Thor murmured. “Oh, I think I just remembered that.”

“The work never ends,” Loki said with an exaggerated sigh. “Nap first, and then we’ll figure out if I can suck your memories out through your cock.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Thor yawned. He draped his arm around Loki’s waist and snuggled close. “But I’m willing to try anything.”

*

Thor’s memories did come back, in a slow but steady trickle.

Sometimes they came back like plucking silver fish from a river. Sometimes they fell on Thor’s head like fruits overhead.

(At least one time, something came back while Loki was riding him, some inconsequential memory that made Thor giggle, breathless with it, until Loki slammed himself down on his cock, sending all his thoughts scattering.)

In the autumn, six months after his accident, Thor was mixing paints in the studio when he remembered: _the engagement ring is in the bottom drawer of the bedside table_.

He ran all the way home. 

Loki stared in confusion when Thor burst into the apartment and wordlessly, frantically tore into their room. He pulled the drawer open, and there it was, sitting innocently in the corner. 

“Marry me,” Thor said as he stood up. “Unless you already have and you were just hiding it and waiting for me to remember—”

“Why the hell would I do that, oh my god, I can’t believe you got a ring and didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t remember—”

“Thor,” Loki said, sounding giddy and exasperated all at once, “ask me the fucking question.”

“Loki,” Thor asked, already choked with tears, “will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my god, you,” and here Loki had to take a sobbing breath, “yes, fuck, oh my god.”

His hands were still streaked with wet paint, Thor realized, after he held Loki’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Someday, Thor thought, as he and Loki clung tight and swayed to some unknowable music in their living room, someday they’d let the world know. Someday there would be a space for them to love each other, even if it was only in Thor’s paintings. But for now, the memories they had between them were enough, all the more precious for being theirs alone. 

“Next time I lose my memories,” Thor said, twirling Loki gently, “just tell me we’re in love.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Loki said dryly. “I might just stab you with a fork though.”

“A blowjob should work, too,” Thor said, grinning.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Loki said, shaking his head.

“I know I am,” Thor said. “I’m marrying you, after all.”

Loki’s cheeks flushed red, vivid as fresh strawberries in the winter.

In his mind’s eye, Thor began to paint. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> the poem quoted in this is "horses at midnight without a moon" by jack gilbert.
> 
> title is from "oh mama no" by vienna teng.
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated 💕


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